


Hurtfull memories

by Sppielles



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Emotionally Repressed, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, One Shot, One-Sided Attraction, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:01:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27699353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sppielles/pseuds/Sppielles
Summary: This is kinda my first addition to this fandom so don't hunt me down with pitchforks.Basically everything hurts and Sherlock is preplexed
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 9





	Hurtfull memories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dyssymulacja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyssymulacja/gifts).



Everything in Sherlock's life has already been analyzed multiple times and given its purpose whilst he went over everything in great detail just to cease the never ending boredom and to satisfy the ache to think, move, deduce, do anything that required a little strain out of him. It never worked, of course. Those simple things would probably trouble someone less intelligent than him, but for his brain those measly tasks were only a simple distraction he used when nothing actually serious came up to bother him. Sure, he was sometimes forced to think about something truly important as he dug deeper and deeper into his head, that was something he expected. Regardless, it never troubled him. All hard thoughts were untangled then stored away. They never stayed around to cling to him in some unfortunate times, like they did to so many others. It was honestly amusing to observe other people as they experienced those moments. Something twisted in him enjoyed watching them suffer over those hardships when he knew that it would take him less than a millisecond to put everything back on its place. 

The not so fun part was thinking about his brother's way of doing so, since he knew that it would end up with them both arguing over things that were not even related to the subject they started out with.

Getting away from his brother overall helped his mental health greatly, Sherlock found those moments he spends without him around really fruitful. His inspiration to pick up and play the violin came back almost instantaneously, and the songs he created sounded better and better each time he refined them to reach perfection. Working was something that came easier, even if the case was one of the most confusing ones in its nature. But with time that rush worn off, and he was left alone with his head. All alone, if you don't count the other people that occupied the building he lived in. He didn't, they were all the same with their identically boring lives. 

And then came the day that changed his life, even if just a little. Another person could never leave a huge impact on him, regardless of that Sherlock felt better and better after he welcomed John into his life. It was light at the beginning, taking at least a sliver of his focus away to gloat at the faces John made when Sherlock managed to surpass his expectation for him yet again, how nice it felt to finally have someone to talk to even if the other person was nowhere near his level of thinking. It never really mattered with John. There were times that they shared intellect would have sped up the investigation process by a lot. However, spending more time with his new partner made sparks irk inside of him. Mostly because he had someone he could chat with about the topic at hand and those times wouldn't prove to be futile. John was a doctor, after all. 

There were certain things that Sherlock lacked at, and it was never easy with him when it came to admitting that, but those were the times that Johns medical specialties had a little crack to shine through. 

They worked together in unison, even if they bumped against each other with silly little arguments. Sherlock, for example, managed to push himself under the bus by simply saying that he never considered other people as his friends. That upset John greatly. It didn't occur to him that their partnership would leave such a huge impact on John. With the case taking over the majority of their time together, he squeezed in fixing that issue while he tested out his theories revolving around this twisted tale. The damage done to John's feelings was repaired, Sherlock hoped so at least, and the case ended with a loud bang, which was quite unfortunate. 

After all those small casualties they both went through, everything snapped back to what it was for some time, until Sherlock dragged himself into something that over time encased him in its grasp, leaving John thoroughly depressed. It never came easy to some; seeing their friends die right before their eyes. Negative thoughts stayed with them, sometimes for all eternity, making sure that they remember the accident picture clear. Then it tugged on to remind them about all the things they could have done to prevent something like this. God knows what went through John's head when he stood over his grave. Regret, that's for sure. It came with good intentions, but left dragging more trouble along with it. Strong hatred was next, baring the same amount of pain for both parties involved.

Sherlock was naive to think that John would welcome him into his arms once again after spending all those years yearning just to see his stupid face again, and he was foolish to not consider that John's life might have taken a turn with his departure. He had a wife now. A sharp sting still cuts through his heart each time he sees her, it confused Sherlock. It's not the childish feeling of jealousy, he became well acquainted with that. He's not jealous of John. Emotional relations would only make him more sluggish. They would take up time and space for things that could have been carried more value. If anything he doesn't even know if it is jealousy that's biting him. He felt its true form once or twice in his life and this is definitely different. You can even say that he was stuck in a constant jealousy battle with his insufferable brother, because testing their intellectual strength on one another seemed to have left them in sparing match that will wreck havoc in its path until one of them bites the ground. 

But that feeling left a different kind of taste in his mouth. This one almost clawed at him whenever his eyes saw them together, standing so close and suffocating each other with adoration. It made him sick to his stomach in a way that was indescribable to him, and that scared him. Why did it scare him? Because all his damned existence Sherlock always knew about everything around him. He knew how he operated. This is but a minor flaw that started eating away at him, rotting him from the inside. For some time he managed to withhold it, and he got rewarded by stumbling upon a clue that might have led him straight to the reason behind it all. It all came crumbling down at their wedding; Sherlock no longer knew everything about himself. There were loose screws inside this perfect machine that sooner or later would bring it to a ruin. In those lonely nights he spent without John being not far away in the other room, he pushed himself into his mind palace, craving to go back and relive the times that there were only the two of them against the world of criminals.Those feelings inside him yearned for anything that might closely resemble what they had together. It hurt to know that in would never come true again. 

Since when was he so attached to people? When did he become so weak? Thoughts like that bounced around in Sherlock's mind as he kept his gaze focused on John's daughter. He never felt a connection so strong to anyone he ever met, they all found their respectable places and they got used to the way Sherlock treated them. John was an anomaly. Sherlock was more than sure that his brother picked up on this weakness a long time ago, hell, he might have realized it sooner that Sherlock did, but he didn't use it against him. He jabbed at him then and there, just to clarify that it was indeed him and not some crappy replacement. That's what siblings do; they pry at each others flaws to rub salt in the wound, however Mycroft did no such thing. At this point everyone around him took their sweet time to identify his problem, even Ms. Hudson knew everything. Keeping it away from John proved to be more difficult with all of those eyes on them. Sherlock locked everything away the second it stepped out of line so it doesn't make sense to him that this it resisting so stubbornly. 

He could no longer stare into Mary's eyes, feeling guilt rising rapidly with every failed attempt to ease everything back down. Other feelings also ignited when he looked her over, but they all sounded way to improper to even let them breathe for five seconds. His hatred and frustration massively grew each moment he troubled his mind about this, it seethed with pure energy that only his deepest thoughts shared. Nonetheless, he asked Mary to take care of John for him in a last attempt to beg the other for forgiveness after everything he put him through. 

Sherlock at that point was prepared to go live a colorless life with his mind in shambles. He helped out in every way he could to get their marriage to grow fonder and bigger. If he could no longer bring John happiness, then he'll at least show his support, so John can finally move on from this chapter filled with misery. John would live a happy life with his new family that didn't contain Sherlock. It would be for the best if he made his exit before he dragged them down even further. 

That all came to a stop when Mary's coffin was being lowered into the ground. All the bottled up emotions came tumbling down right at them with deadly speed and Sherlock didn't have it in him to say that it left him paralyzed. What he found out before her demise threw both him and John off tact, but it only made Sherlock believe that his past decisions had a solid ground to stand on now. She was devoted to John, the same way he was to him, and Sherlock will never forget the sad look on John's face when he turned to him. He looked lost, like one of the many people that came to Sherlock with a new mystery to solve, only his teary eyes begged him to find the missing piece that will sedate the turmoil bubbling inside his heart. Sherlock was the only thing he had left. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, seeing John so vulnerable and open. Not in a bad way, no. But it made Sherlock soft. They rarely shared any kind of intimate moments together, however, they both squeezed the other close as in a way to ensure they're both there when the other might need them. That cursed pit in his chest that ached for John to be this close to him yet again fell awfully silent, listening raptly to John's cries and feeling his tears stain Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock wasn't prepared to comfort anyone, his mind couldn't comprehend why people kept acting upon their emotions, it was like adding fire to the flame. That never went through his thick skull, yet he held onto John like his life depended on it. To the cruel world outside of his arms, John's happiness barely mattered, but it shined brighter than gold in Sherlock's eyes and he's not giving this treasure up anytime soon.

Their daily routines changed rapidly after that depressing day. Sherlock stayed in his head to try and figure something, anything, that would bring that smile he adored back on to Johns face, while the other hoped to regain a slice of normalcy he was once living with. They stayed with one another after John overcame the dark thoughts that tried kindling his despair back to life. There were days that rolled along how they would back in the day, but then reality came crashing down to remind them of their failures. It dawned on Sherlock the most, because he kept repeating to himself that he could have saved her, he was right there. His past incompetence wrung tears out of John whenever he looked at his daughter. Then Sherlock's mind went to those tender moments that were shared between John and Mary, how happy they were once he told them that they should be expecting an extension to their family, or times when John used to take special care of whatever Mary did to ensure her safety when she was pregnant. He even forgave her for hiding behind all the lies that lay between them at the beginning.

That now familiar pressure in his chest has returned, nearly doubling him over with what-ifs and other painful questions he much rather take to his grave. Sherlock felt desperate enough at some point in the past to finally rid himself of those flaws, fix them or stuff something else in their place to stop their internal massacre on his psyche. That's when he came to Molly, one of the only people he could go to with this issue without having to suffer through the teasing, and it felt like he got a huge rock off of his chest as the confessions left his mouth. She listened carefully to not miss anything in this word jumble he threw at her, she always tried to help him out the best she could. Her eyes, bright and full of hope at the beginning, were getting a grimmer look to them the more he spoke. Observing this he though that his assumptions were in fact correct, and that any second she'll tell him that he caught a disease or something. That was the most likely cause in his opinion. However, nothing in this world would prepare him for what she said, not bothering to keep eye contact with him. That aching in his chest whenever John wondered away with Mary was connected to his more human side, the one that wasn't a part of the perfect machine he made himself out to be. Of course it had to be connected to that. What caught him so off guard was the intensity that the word carried. He argued with Molly at first trying to get a second opinion, because there was no way that he of all the people caught that horrendous feeling, but the fight became one sided as he realized more and more that she was correct and his stubbornness wouldn't make it easier. 

Sherlock sat on that thought for a long time, regardless of its urgency, needing some time to process, rethink it a hundred times, process again and repeat that until he no longer could lie to himself. It hardly mattered then, they already eloped and crashing something so delicate like that just to figure out if those feelings he felt were in fact the source of his troubles would only make John despise him. He didn't care much about that in the beginning, it would make their friendship crumble for sure, he was well aware of that, but a part of him seemed to not give a shit at that point. The more responsible part quickly took care of that, but it still lingered around. It flicked back to life when John was dealing with the sudden wave of realizations regarding Mary. Oh, how it pushed Sherlock to come closer and interact with him in any way he could, maybe to take his mind off of the subject for some time or to satisfy Sherlock's own selfish desires. But then again, needing someone you hold close to your heart isn't do selfish, is it? Mary had her fun, but she ruined it by keeping things under a lock and key.

Everything foul that lived inside of him back in the day died along with her, and it shared the same coffin as her. The day of their wedding was neatly kept in the back of his mind at all times. It had no way no to pop up now and again when John kept looking at their wedding photos. They no longer hurt as much as they did. Sherlock can even admit that he looked rather dashing in his suit. Both of their minds were stuck in a maze with seemingly no exit, but they had each other to talk to and ease the pain away even if a little bit.

"Daydreaming again, aren't you?" Sherlock said, having been leaning on the door frame for a little while. He watched in silence as John sat down, made himself comfortable and pulled out his wallet to fetch the photo his eyes were glued to now. His sudden interruption made John flinch hard enough to almost send the picture flying.

"Ah... Sherlock." His blue eyes flicked up to meet Sherlock's. He saw the years John went through in them, the pain of fighting the war and the pain of losing someone dear to you. That shine left them a long time ago, but it didn't stop Sherlock from boring his own eyes into those gorgeous spheres. After a short stare down John took in a deep breath to calm his racing heart, feeling quite uncomfortable with the silence that spread itself out, "Jesus, don't walk up on me like that."

"Sorry."

Sherlock may have intended to spook John a little in the beginning, just to lighten up the mood that has been trudging behind him for the entire week. He trapped the words in his throat when he noticed what was exactly happening. It wasn't in his intentions, though, to stare at John like some sort of creep. Sherlock cleared his throat and pushed himself away from the door frame, walking towards John until he stood a good few feet in front of him, making it easier for him to notice the bags under John's eyes and his stubble. That didn't drag any kind of negative reactions out of John. That's good. He's better today. No comment about Sherlock pushing into his private bubble.

Not wanting to just stand and stare he angled himself away from John to focus on the baby carrier laying close to John, "I see that Rosie is looking relatively better." 

"Yeah, the cold let up and now she's just waiting it out."

They were in such close proximity that Sherlock swore he could smell the cologne John used. It smelled different from his usual one. His mind was already putting the puzzle pieces together, but he dimmed it out to enjoy this comfortable moment. Right here was a prime example of what Sherlock missed. Before John moved out to live in a home he and Mary brought, Sherlock used to play this little game when the days dragged on without a case in sight. It was called 'Is it a date or a fluke'. Majority of the time it was a date, but they didn't exactly end well. If they did then their lifespan didn't last very long with John butchering the names, mistaking people all together, doing whatever he was doing that would obviously end badly. Sherlock got a sick kind of satisfaction when that happened, not because of John's suffering, but because it prolonged the inevitable that sparked with Mary. He's still a little disappointed that he didn't see the process first hand. The stories they shared with him sounded pretty interesting.

Sherlock kept the need to inch closer at bay for as long as he could. You can excuse this little loss of control on his nosy behavior. He wanted to peek at the photo, that's all. It was gently held in Johns hand, having some creases here and there along with washed out corners from staying in his leather wallet too long, but the clarity of it stayed the same. The first time Sherlock saw it clearly, he felt weak. Instead of the picture John had with him and Mary being the only ones in the frame, he carried around the one where Sherlock was right there with them. His content smile being a form of acceptance that settled over him to dull the venom seething inside was visible here. To anyone else it seemed like the most normal smile there ever was, and Sherlock much rather keep it that way. If it allowed him to cherish John's happy face in the picture forever, then he's all right with taking that thought with him until his heart stopped.

Being so occupied with memories Sherlock nearly missed when John put the photo on his lap, do they both could see it. A smile tugged itself onto Sherlock's lips. Always so considerate.

"I wouldn't bother you as much with the daycare duty if she was still here," John said, breaking the silence. Speaking about her calmed him as much as it hurt him, but he felt guilty about springing this out on Sherlock like that without asking him first. Getting a solid affirmative answer out of his beloved friend would put an end to this endless circle of guilt John found himself in.

Sherlock merely scoffed, "You know I don't mind that, right?" 

"Do you really?"

The same smile he held a second ago was mirrored in Johns expression. It didn't look quite as cheery, not with the story his sad eyes told. Nonetheless, a smile is a smile.  
Sherlock curtly nodded, hesitating only for a moment before stepping closer to the baby carrier and reaching his hand out towards Rosie. Her tired eyes struggled to stay open, clearly showing that she much rather be sleeping than being a part of this conversation, but she didn't waste any time wrapping her tiny hand around Sherlock's fingers.

"... I might even say that I cherish it in a way," Sherlock said straightening back up. He turned to John, who looked visibly happy at the display in front of him, and added, "And so should you." 

"What, you think that it you stay close enough, your big brain might rub off on her?" John rested his chin on his palm, raising one brow to give Sherlock that look the other secretly adored. 

"Well, you never know."

With that, he turned his attention back to John, or more importantly, the picture lying on his lap. His hand reached out for it after he looked up at John to ensure that his silent request was welcomed. His fingertips briefly brushed against the smooth texture of John's jeans, sending sparks up his arm. Sherlock mustered up more self-control to pull his hand away, which was easier said than done. They shared their warmth for a miniscule moment, yet his fingers felt ice cold without it.

She brought him happiness in ways I couldn't achieve.

"I miss her, Sherlock."

But I'll go to hell and back to keep John happy... For our sakes.

We both know it won't be the same.

"Me too, John."

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't think I should be adding anything to this fandom, since I don't think my style of writting fits(and I can't write this shit so it's in character) but my friend wanted some emotion tugging so here we are. If theres a flaw or smth like that please inform me and thanks for reading this... whatever this is.


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